


we don't pray for love

by finalizer



Category: Catalyst: A Rogue One Novel, Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, M/M, Make Them Suffer, Slight Rogue One Spoilers, world record for most intense breakup in outer space
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-25
Updated: 2016-10-25
Packaged: 2018-08-24 11:33:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8370715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/finalizer/pseuds/finalizer
Summary: Every moment between them is like a time bomb, ticking away, counting down to a horrible, indefinite moment in the future. The pressure just builds, until it tears everything apart.





	

He sees the boy for the first time, bright eyes sparkling with potential. They’re roughly the same age, Orson thinks. He wonders what it would feel like to have a kindred spirit.

_tick_

Every moment between them is like a time bomb, ticking away, counting down to a horrible, indefinite moment in the future. The pressure just builds and builds.

_tick_

Through night and day they talk, push into every free moment the other has. They discover they share a dream, a passion for innovation, a drive that fuels their every move; though Galen’s is hesitant where Orson’s is sharp and cutting. He doesn't take no for an answer. It should have been a sign right then.

_tick_

They’re torn apart by whirlwinds of aspirations; tugging at them, pulling them in separate directions. Where one craves knowledge, the other craves power. And where balance could be struck, it isn’t.

_tick_

Once a day turns into once a week, once a week turns into once a month, once a month turns into once a year. Then nothing.

_tick_

It hurts more than he cares to admit, but he forces himself to forget. Orson thinks himself immune to sentimental distraction: a piece of clay ready to be fashioned into a weapon, without the threat of tears to make it all run and fall apart. Perfect, apathetic, driven.

_tick_

Galen reminisces. Galen remembers. Galen meets Lyra. Galen forgets.

_tick_

Krennic rises through the ranks, and it’s grueling, it’s pathetic to grovel at the feet of superiors. Until they’re no longer superiors, until Krennic advances and others become redundant. It’s all worth it in the end, watching them fall to their knees to beg for forgiveness.

_tick_

Ultimately, it’s a startling concurrence of events that brings them back together: Krennic stuck and desperate, Galen imprisoned, in the custody of Separatists who think they can make a genuine difference. They could only dream to achieve what the Empire has at arm’s length.

_tick_

It’s a perfect opportunity, a strategic turning point: the idea to get the appraised scientist on board. Krennic agrees, tells himself the churning in his gut is pure adrenaline, anticipation of immeasurable possibility. He tells himself he’s not afraid to see Galen again.

_tick_

“How wonderful to see you after all this time,” he says with a bright smile, wide and painful in its falseness, before he ushers Galen and his  _family_  aboard, takes them away from the prison that’d dared to confine them.

Perhaps he feels pity for Galen, for all he's had to endure. Krennic clenches his fists at his sides, and uses that to explain the embrace, why he felt compelled to touch Galen in the first place.

_tick_

Krennic is durable, he’s impervious to this kind of pain. But he watches Lyra hold the child,  _Galen’s daughter_ , and wants to throw up at the onslaught of nausea. He recognizes the sting, he knows he’s jealous.

_tick_

Galen tries to reason, before Krennic gives the order to blow the enemy settlement off the face of the planet. He doesn’t know that the future brought upon change, and neither of them is who they used to be.

“Perhaps,” Krennic offers, pretends to consider morality. “But we’re at war, and they’re on the wrong side.”

He watches Galen’s gaze turn horrified, then run unfocused, until everything warps and blurs together and Galen doesn’t recognize the man standing in front of him any longer.

_tick_

It’s a beautiful distraction, for a while. The laboratories, the opportunities, the men and resources at Galen’s disposal. He marvels at the shiny trinkets, at the world Krennic has handed him on a silver platter. And he lets the gleam blind him.

_tick_

They disappear: Galen, Lyra and the child. A single moment, a careless lapse in security, and everything Krennic has orchestrated seems to crumble into dust. He curses the moment he was foolish enough to think it could all work out.

_tick_

But opportunity returns, an annonymous tip sending Krennic across worlds to Lah'mu, to the grimy excuse for a home Galen had pieced together to hide from Krennic's aspirations. He stalks across the soot-colored beach, over the green field, and Galen stands in front of him for the first time in what feels like forever. He's tired of running: it's in the creases around his eyes. Krennic wants to brush them away.

 _tick_  

It happens so suddenly that the world spins and shatters apart beneath Galen’s feet. One moment his wife is there, and then she’s gone. The guiding light in the darkness flickers and dies out.

Still, it doesn’t subdue the entirety of Krennic’s envy. He’s always wanted more, nothing is ever enough.

_tick_

A multitude of years passes; the weapon nears completion. Krennic vies for the Emperor’s approval, for the highest praise. He knows he’s done everything in his power to ensure their success. He knows everything is going to go according to plan.

_tick_

The scientist's daughter _—_   _Jyn —_  is still nowhere to be found. She's as good as dead, Krennic thinks; he hopes it doesn't bother Galen too badly. Krennic tries to avoid him, convinces himself it’s for the best; he knows he can’t afford a diversion, interruption of any sort. But he can only bend so far before he snaps.

_tick_

Maybe it’s the proximity that does it. Quiet words and hushed whispers, fleeting touches and dark bruises. They go at each other as rivals, as friends, as lovers, and before they know it, they can no longer stop the pull. And Krennic lets his guard down, lets his carefully constructed walls shatter: he opens up and lets himself feel, gives a part of himself away to someone he thinks he trusts.

And it’s like Pandora’s damned box.

_tick_

Krennic doesn’t notice it at first, Galen's plan. He’s enamored with the newfound inkling of familiarity, a blossoming warmth that doesn’t, for a change, stem from professional achievement. He’s blinded by the same glint in Galen’s eyes that drew Krennic to him in the first place. He remembers. And for a moment, it’s perfect.

_tick_

Galen sends the transmission; a warning. He knows he can’t allow the massacre that’s sure to follow the completion of the Death Star. The grotesque title itself makes him shudder, makes him regret the moment he stepped into the laboratory of his own free will. He opens his eyes for the first time in too long and sees the damage he’s done. The panel blinks green.  _Message sent_.

_tick_

The ticking grows so loud it drowns out the sound of his heart pounding. Maybe it’s one and the same.

It grows to a crescendo and it crashes, cracks like lightning and tears everything apart. The story draws to a close as their imagined Eden burns to the ground.

 

 

“How much did you know?”

Galen wants to scream himself hoarse, wants to punch against walls, watch the dark blood trickle down his knuckles, drip onto the ground _—_  anything to substitute the ache in his chest. He’s aware he’s been lied to. He’s sent the warning and prays he’s not too late. He knows he should lie low and wait; yet he wants to hear the truth from the source; wants to look his betrayer in the eye and understand _why_.

He stares straight ahead at Krennic from across the room, gauges his reaction to the sudden demand.

“About?”

“Don’t lie to me,” Galen snaps, “don’t pretend you don’t know. Just tell me, Orson, how much did you know about what I was creating?”

Krennic grits his teeth, jaw set. There’s no doubt he’s been waiting for this moment, this precise question, for years on end. He’s been dreading it since the start. Galen knows the answer before it leaves his lips.

“Everything,” Krennic says simply.

“And how long have you known everything?”

Another curt response: “Always.”

Galen curls and uncurls his hands at his sides, presses his fingers into fists until his fingernails bleed crescents into his palms.

“Yet you had me do it anyway.”

Krennic doesn’t deny it. “I did.”

“You lied to me.”

Finally, he hesitates. The impassive mask slips for long enough for Galen to see the pain behind the cruel, blue eyes.

“I lied to you,” Krennic admits.

The world keeps falling apart, torn at the seams, each and every illusion crumbling away until there’s nothing left between them but the raw, searing truth. The silence is unbearable.

“You’ve turned me into a monster,” Galen chokes out. He can’t put the turmoil into words, can’t even begin to put a name to the hurricane wracking him from the inside out.

Krennic takes a step forward and Galen takes a step back.

“You’re not a monster.”

“No,” Galen agrees, a bitter smile tugging at the corner of his lips. He wants to be cruel. He wants to say what Krennic needs to hear. “Not quite like you.”

The reaction is priceless. Krennic freezes mid-step, mouth pursing into a tight line. Galen wonders if this is how Krennic wears emotion: trembling lips, distant eyes, hands painfully still at his sides. A penchant for anger is something else; raised tone, a momentary loss of control, naught but a volatile temperament. Galen knows this is different _—_  unbridled pain.

Krennic knew this would hurt him, yet he did it anyway.

“The project _—_  ” Krennic starts, and Galen hears the note of desperation in his voice, clear as day. He twists his words the right way, tells Galen what he wants to hear. He wants to keep him on his side. “It’s a precaution. You haven’t hurt anyone with its creation, Galen.”

The empty words fly overhead, they don’t hit their mark. Galen doesn’t want any more excuses, no more fairy tales crafted to help him sleep at night.

“That’s a load of shit,” Galen says. He’s calm; he’s ready to see Krennic for who he really is. “You say _project_ , Orson. It’s a weapon; the stuff of nightmares. The amount of pure energy it channels could level entire planets, entire _systems_ , in due time. You say it’s a precaution, and all I hear is more lies. When you got us off Vallt, and you destroyed the camp _—_  was that a precaution? No. You’re at war, and you will use any means necessary to destroy those who won’t bow. I’m another means to an end. One of your tools. You used me.”

Krennic draws in a shuddering breath. “I gave you an opportunity _—_  ”

“To become like you?” The question is scathing. “A vicious, heartless, _loveless_ bastard?”

A line is crossed and Krennic fails to refrain himself from pushing forward, closing the distance between them in a few long strides. He meets Galen’s eyes, raises his jaw in utter defiance.

“Don’t you dare say that,” he hisses, and his meaning is perfectly transparent.

“No. You don’t love me, Orson,” Galen says. He stands his ground, though every instinct, every nerve ending in his body is telling him to flee. Krennic looks at the ground. Hides, as if he could avoid hearing Galen’s words if he didn’t see him say them. “You wouldn’t do this if you loved me. You wouldn’t use me. You wouldn’t lie to me. You wouldn’t break me into pieces and put me back together again the way you wanted me. I’m not _—_   _we’re_ not _—_  whatever you thought. I won’t fuel your delusion.”

There's a certain finality to the words, a conviction impossible to argue against.

“That’s a new development, isn’t it?” Krennic asks, looks up slowly. “It wasn’t like that. Before.”

“Before I realized the power of what I was creating or before you lost your soul to this damned cause?” Galen spits. “Or perhaps you mean, before your wretched jealousy got the better of you and you had Lyra killed?”

“I didn’t _—_  ”

“ _Don’t lie to me, Orson_.”

He wants to scream and he does, his voice breaks, and Krennic takes a step back at the sheer force of the words. The sound echoes about the empty quarters, Krennic’s furnishings impersonally sparse. Galen wants to make him understand, wants to grab him by the lapels of his uniform and shake him, _hurt_ him, until the gravity of the damage he's done sinks in.

Instead, he exhales. “You’re done hurting me.”

His voice doesn’t break, his words don’t waver. He’s at peace with the decision he’s made, he knows it’s his and his alone. He knows there’s not an ounce of illusion beneath the words, that no one is pulling his strings like a malevolent puppet master. He knows Krennic can’t touch him now.

The stone cold façade slips back on, Krennic’s icy gaze raking over every inch of Galen’s face, mapping the territory, trying to find a loose thread: something he can pull on, something he can use to unravel Galen’s resolve.

He finds nothing.

He asks, “What now?”

Galen isn’t stupid. He knows his decision will be met with consequences. He knows the curtain is sliding shut, that the show he’s been taking part of is drawing to a close. He’s an actor, a pawn, irrelevant to the greater picture. He won’t be given the chance to take his final bow. “That’s not for me to decide, is it? How this ends?”

Krennic’s smile is vicious, finally living up to Galen’s expectations. He revels in the cruelty, letting go of the last shred of clinging humanity. “No. It isn’t.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> note: this was written before rogue one came out, bc we all know that this confrontation was far more fatal in the movie im SCREAMING
> 
> [kinkshame me](https://twitter.com/finaIizer)


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